Trovare L'amore
by vielice
Summary: After Peyton's dad's death, the failure of her art gallery, and having found nothing left for her in New York, she's decided to go to an art convention in Venice, Italy; not knowing that she'd find the love of her life because of one small coincidence. AU
1. Broken

**Trovare L'amore**

_Finding Love_

* * *

**Summary:** After Peyton's dad's death, the failure of her art gallery, and having found nothing left for her in New York, she's decided to go to an art convention in Venice, Italy; albeit not knowing that she'd find the love of her life because of one small coincidence.

**Chapter 1: **Broken

_I'm hanging on to the words you say; you said that I will be okay._

* * *

All it took was another intake of breath before she entered her best friend's boutique: Clothes Over Bros; drooping her shoulders when she's spotted the scowling brunette motioning for her to walk over towards the counter, where Brooke, her best friend, stood behind.

"Nice to see you," Said the brunette, tone at its upmost sarcasm. She knew she was in another heap of lecture.

"Hi," Quietly, she stood in front of the counter whilst biting her bottom lip, giving the brunette an uncomfortable shrug.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rasped Brooke angrily, staring down the blonde icily.

It was silent for a few more seconds until the last customer left, Brooke, who had just been giving Peyton a death glare sprinted towards the door and locked it, turning the 'Open' sign to 'Close' even if it was just 2PM.

"Where's you—"

"Left early," Brooke said in a sudden harsh tone, making the blonde raise a brow at how antsy she was being. "You're going to Italy without consulting me, Peyton! Am I being punk'd?"

"I don't need your permission, Brooke, I've never needed it and I sure as fucking hell don't need it now. I want to go to Italy because I need inspiration, okay? I need to see _amazing_ and _breathtaking _art. You-You have a boyfriend, and you _own_ a fucking boutique, Brooke! What do I have? Nothing. My dad just died; _no one_ is buying anything from _my_ gallery and I'm not in love. What do you want me to do?" Yelled she, as tears flowed down her cheeks at a rapid speed; looking up at her best friend who looked stunned by her sudden outburst.

"…Peyton..." Brooke said sadly, immediately feeling less angry at the blonde who, she, has never seen as emotional as this—revealing her feelings upfront.

"I don't need this from you, Brooke! I didn't expect you to understand anyway. Your life is perfect, whereas mine is nowhere near that," Giving the out-of-words brunette an unsympathetic smile before storming out of the boutique in anger. The fact that Brooke was angry at Peyton didn't make sense to the blonde for she didn't understand why not telling her the first was such a big deal—wait, now that she's thought about it, it kind of _does_ make sense. Why? Brooke was _always_ first. It just made sense she'd also want to be first to know everything, and be the first obligation of Peyton.

The blonde in turn, was getting sick of it.

* * *

Almost a week has passed since she's last seen Brooke; the two of them were so hung up about the fact that they didn't do anything wrong when in all hidden honesty, they knew that both of them were at fault.

She regrets it—snapping at Brooke like that last week. She didn't mean to be so harsh but the words just flew out of her mouth and she couldn't stop it. After she's left the boutique that day, she had hurriedly gone to her apartment and broke down on the floor, angered by the fact that she had shouted at Brooke, who, by the way was her only _true_ friend. Now that she's thought of it, Brooke deserved happiness and she was just being a jealous best friend by saying those things to her. She didn't mean any of it. Of course she didn't. She loved Brooke with all her heart and knew that the brunette loved her too. It was hoes over bros. But just because she regretted those things didn't mean she would be apologizing.

She zipped her luggage closed before huffing loudly and lying down on her bed—back against the bare mattress that used to be covered in red sheets as a reminder of her teenage years.

She'd finally finish packing her luggage and was looking at the clock that was hanging on top of her doorway; watching it and waiting for twenty more minutes to leave the apartment, somehow hoping that one of her friends would stop by and tell her not to leave (even though she's coming back), she just hoped that one would care enough to _try_ and tell her they'd help her through things this time, give her at least half an hour of their time. Bevin, Rachel, Millicent, Julian and Jake, she wished one of them would just rush in the room and give her a hug and tell her it's going to be okay, but she knew that wasn't possible. Even the thought of Brooke barging in her apartment was vague. It wasn't possible, though, as she hears a loud slam on her door, she sat up immediately and was shocked at the sight of a disheveled, no makeup, still pretty, half-heartedly smiling Brooke Davis in just her pajamas, rim of her brown eyes, red—obviously from crying.

"W-What are you doing here?" She asked, looking anywhere but the brunette who now stood by the side of her bedroom doorway, running a hand through her already messy brown hair.

"I'm here because of just _one_ thing," Brooke's voice was shaky, full of fear; she's recognized it since she's spoken like that herself in many woeful events.

Peyton gave her a wry look, shrugging her shoulders and hoping that her best friend would take it as a sign to just continue what she was going to say. The time was ticking.

"I don't want you to leave, Peyton," Admitted the brunette, tears falling on her delicate face again; eyes stinging, so sore from crying every night before bed, and every morning before work.

There it was. The 'I don't want you to go' speech Peyton wanted. She wanted to jump up and down, really, but she was just frozen on her spot, both of them enveloped in silence before she faked a cough, initiating that Brooke should continue speaking.

"That's selfish but I don't want you to leave. I hate myself. I've been crying since you left the boutique. I haven't been to work since that day and kept telling Laura (her assistant) to run the shop. I can't sketch properly because my hands would shake and tears will threaten to fall and make my breathing uneven. Mark's worried I'm sick or something because I'm always in my bed whenever he's around. The words you said kept replaying in my head and it makes me cry and feel guilty, ," Brooke sobbed, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand second after second. "I'm a bad friend. No, that's an understatement. I'm the worst friend _ever_. I—I—Why didn't you tell me you ever felt that way, P? I love you as much as I love Mark, or even myself! It's you and me, Peyton. Hoes over bros. No secrets here, best friend. I overreacted over the Italy issue because I was last to find out, hell Laura had to tell me because she's heard it from Bevin's new boyfriend who she's only been with for a week if I can recall."

Peyton didn't know she was in tears until the tears had flowed down her cheek harshly that she couldn't control it anymore, but no words still left her mouth as the brunette continued speaking.

"I want to tell you we'll fix it together, Peyt, I do. But I can't. I can't lie to you…again. I can't fix it because this time, it's not _me_ who can fix this. I know _he's_ somewhere out there. That special guy for you, and when you meet him, you both are going to live happily ever after. _He's_ going to fix _you._ We can try and get past your dad's death and all of the other crappy events that happened in your life these past few months but that's not going to fix you now, is it? It's just going to be buried somewhere in your heart again and I don't want that, Peyt. You've had enough heartache since you were nine and it's time you've had enough," Brooke sat down beside Peyton, hugging the blonde as tight as possible—both crying in each other's arms like they did since they were nine years old. "_I_ don't _want_ you to go, but I know that you _have_ to. I'm not going to stop you. I'm going to just watch you and wait for you to come back because I know that we're going to be okay. You and me, remember?"

Peyton nodded, her tears seeping through Brooke's white pajama shirt whilst Brooke just rubbed soothing circles on her friend's back, also sobbing hysterically. They stayed like that for a few more minutes before the two pulled away and looked at each other with a smile.

"Water under the bridge," Peyton said hoarsely, wiping away the remnants of her tears as she gave held out her right knuckle waiting for Brooke's to do the same so they'd do their secret 'pound'.

Brooke smirked, nodding her head, pounding fists with Peyton before pulling her in for another friendly hug; one that she's sure both of them will miss until the blonde returned from Italy for who knows how long.

"I'm sorry," Both had said at the same time, erupting from laughter at how they were being like kids again, saying things at the same time.

"Hoes over bros?" Brooke smirked, raising an eyebrow at the smiling blonde.

"Hoes over bros," Peyton echoed before glancing at the time again. She had 10 minutes left.

"Well, you don't want to miss your flight," Brooke stood up from the bed and helped Peyton with her luggage. "I'd really like to come with you, but look at me; I ran the street in just this. Pictures of me in magazines are going to be swarming everywhere tomorrow."

The two shared a laugh before Brooke spoke again, looking into Peyton's eyes, hoping for a sincere answer. "Promise me one thing, ."

Peyton nodded, taking in a deep breath before meeting Brooke's eyes and giving her a smile.

"We're going to be okay, right? Most especially, you?" Brooke smiled sadly, pulling Peyton in for another hug. She's going to miss her so why not get as much hugs as she can, right?

"I don't know about me, Brooke, but us? We're good. We'll always be," Peyton smiled.

Brooke nodded before they pulled away from the hug, Peyton dragging her luggage to the doorway, handing Brooke her key and looking at the brunette. "Keep this for me for a while, okay?"

"Sure thing, I was going to ask for it anyway since I want to hang in your place and sleep for awhile before heading back home," Brooke chuckled, earning a smack on the arm by the blonde. "I'll take care of this dark and awesome apartment of yours. Don't worry."

"So, I'll call you when I reach there?" Peyton asked, smiling awkwardly at Brooke who nodded immediately. "I don't do well with goodbyes, B."

"I know that, but this isn't a goodbye, P. You know it isn't," Brooke feared that what she said might not be so true later on, but she wasn't going to voice that. She was scared.

"It's not," Peyton said seriously, before breaking into a smile. "Okay, well, I'll see you."

"Have a safe flight!" Brooke called as she watched Peyton walk towards the elevator. "You're going to be okay, P!"

Peyton turned her head slightly to look at the brunette before entering the elevator and asked, "How do you know that?"

"It doesn't matter _how_ I do, because I just _know_ it," Brooke smiled, waving at Peyton who gave her one last smile before disappearing in the elevator—out of her line of sight.

* * *

_Is it worth continuing? Tell me what you think!_


	2. Take My Hand

**Trovare L'amore**

_Finding Love

* * *

_

**Summary:** After Peyton's dad's death, the failure of her art gallery, and having found nothing left for her in New York, she's decided to go to an art convention in Venice, Italy; albeit not knowing that she'd find the love of her life because of one small coincidence.

**Chapter 2: **Take My Hand

_Take my hand tonight, let's not think about tomorrow.

* * *

_

"I'm Peyton Sawyer, calling to ask if the art convention is still being held?" She spoke through the phone that was placed between her ear and the crook and her shoulders while she put on her black skinny jeans.

She'd just settled on her hotel room after arriving in Italy 2 hours earlier and couldn't wait to go to the art convention; very exuberant about the fact that she'd be seeing amazing artworks, and meet artists just like herself. More excited though, because of the fact that she's in _Italy_. Italy!

"Ah, yes, it's still being held and we'd be opening in an hour, we're glad you could make it. We're really happy to help failing artists like you," The woman on the other line said, chuckling a little bit.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Peyton held the phone to her ear now—finally zipping up her jeans. After hearing what the lady had told her had angered her a little bit. How could someone just say something like that? She wasn't a failing artist. Just because her art gallery didn't sell any artwork didn't mean she was a failing artist. Unbelievable!

"Nothing," Said the woman immediately. "I'm sorry, there's another call, but we're glad you've made it! We'll see you there!"

Peyton rolled her eyes, knowing that the woman was just giving excuses as so Peyton would not start screaming on the phone. She threw her phone on the king sized bed, one that was covered in a black sheet with white circles as a pattern with matching pillows. She loved it already!

Peyton put on her black leather jacket before sitting on the bed and tying her converse shoe laces. She didn't want to look formal as it was just an art convention and she'd feel most comfortable in her casual attire: black band tee, leather jacket, jeans and converse. Peyton Sawyer style, as Brooke called it.

After doing so, she grabbed a small pocket English-Italian dictionary (from the bedside table) that she's bought before leaving the airport. You'll never know if you meet any Italian people who don't know how to talk in English, right? It's a possibility. Most of all, though, she was somehow attracted to the language. In the taxi, as she was going through the book, she couldn't help but feel slightly enamored by the beautiful Italian words that she saw, and would later want to learn. It's a beautiful country, it's no surprise they have a beautiful language too.

Peyton squinted at the sunlight that was reflected on her face as she looked around the massive place, hoping to see any sort of indication that she was in the right place but the sunlight and the throngs of people moving past her, going here and there weren't helping at all.

Sighing loudly, she bit her bottom lip and looked down at the piece of paper that was placed between her thumb and pointer finger, written there was the address of the art convention she was supposed to be at by now: (address)

She was definitely lost. Granted that, she was just about to ask a person for direction when the paper slipped between her fingers and flew. _Oh fuck!_

With her left hand trying to shield away the sunlight from her eyes; she followed the flying piece of paper around, bumping into people, apologizing here and there but with no use as they just keep shouting at her with words she didn't even understand.

Not stopping even for a tiny bit, she follows the paper endlessly until she's bumped into someone, falling flat on her arse on the asphalt, blinking back as her vision has been all but clear because of the sunlight.

"Whoa, you okay there?" Says an anonymous voice; placing out a hand for her to take which she, of course, had gladly taken.

Standing up and brushing away the few remnants of dust on her pants before looking at the man standing before her. She first noticed that his eyes were blue—striking, at that; his sandy blonde hair was styled messily, and if she could say, looked really _nice._ He had a broken upturned nose which she'd already thought of was cute, and as she looked a little more, she could see more so of his perfect lips—wait, what?

He wore nothing but a simple light blue button down that was rolled up 'till his elbow, the color bringing out his eyes, and black slacks, and if one is curious, he also wore a pair of black dress shoes. Simple, yet he looked really handsome.

How she's noted all the details of his face, and what he wore in her mind in just a second was beyond her. Really.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine," She tucks a stray curl behind her ear looking up at him with a nuzzled nose and squint- still because of the sunlight.

"Is this yours?" He asked, looking at her with an amused smile, flailing the piece of paper she was following earlier in front of her face, chuckling when she immediately grabbed it away from his hold.

He tried to blink back to see if somehow, his sight was lying to him. There she was; this anonymous female who bumped into him, wearing nothing but some casual clothes that shouldn't really attract him that much, but did. He was captivated by her emerald eyes that shone as she looked at him; her messy curls were flying everywhere because of the wind, yet she still looked amazing. Her face was filled with beauty; eyes full of fire, body nothing but sexy. Long legs that he already wanted wrapped around his waist.

He wondered for a mere second if she was what his brother had been telling him about.

Was she _that_ girl?

* * *

_A/N Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate them. Oh, and sorry for the wait! _

_This story isn't planned out pretty much yet so you guys can tell me what you want to happen or something. _

_Any other couple you want to see? Tell me!_


	3. You've Got A Friend

**Trovare L'amore**

_Finding Love_

**Summary:** After Peyton's dad's death, the failure of her art gallery, and having found nothing left for her in New York, she's decided to go to an art convention in Venice, Italy; albeit not knowing that she'd find the love of her life because of one small coincidence.

**Chapter 3: **You've Got A Friend

_Hey, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?_

* * *

It's been days since he's last seen her. That beautiful woman that had bumped into him accidently in the street and the owner of the paper he had coincidentally caught in his hand. Days, but he still couldn't get her out of his mind. She was gorgeous.

After their small encounter, she immediately took off, mumbling something about being late for an art convention. It made sense to him since he has read that piece of paper and scribbled there, was the address of a known art museum where an art convention was being held. He knows it because he has seen the posters everywhere and because he was once asked by a beautiful Italian artist to go with her, but he'd sadly denied her; knowing her intentions, when he still isn't ready to have a relationship. Not yet, anyway.

If given the chance, he'd gladly turn back time just to go back to that part where they had bumped into each other. He would've asked for her name, or asked her for lunch. Though, he knows turning back time isn't possible. So he's just left brooding in his apartment until his Irish best friend (also roommate), Robert, entered their apartment with another one of those grin of his. The guy never frowned!

Robert is about as tall as he is, one inch different, maybe. He was quite skinny, but girls, as Robert once said it, loved his body. He had brown curls that he shows off, not that Lucas ever even cared, but he liked to show how 'beautiful' he is. His face had handsome structures and he wasn't afraid to say it. He was confident, carefree, sarcastic, and witty, albeit, he curses a lot; not that Lucas minded, that is. He and Lucas had been friends for about a year now, meeting at a local bar in Venice, ending up in a fight and in the police station not knowing that it would be the start of a good friendship.

"Well well," Robert laughed, looking at his friend. "What has you brooding once again, Luke?"

"Nothing," He said immediately, licking his dry lips before looking at the plastic bag Robert was holding. "Is that food?"

"It's my shit," Robert said sarcastically, before rolling his eyes. "What does it look like to you?"

He sat next to Lucas on their white faded, tattered couch before setting the plastic bag on the coffee table and looking at Lucas for an answer.

"I can't see what's inside," Lucas glared at him. "Can I see through things now?"

"Whatever," Robert gave him a disgusted look before opening the contents of the plastic bag, dramatically taking a deep breath as they inhaled the Chinese food he has brought home. "This is the life, man!"

"Don't I know it," Lucas grumbled, before breaking the chopsticks into two and started eating.

"What's wrong with you? Last week, you were all happy and now you look like my sad penis," Robert said nonchalantly as he chewed his noodles, whilst watching Lucas nearly choke on his.

"We're eating!" Lucas announced, glaring at him. "Don't mention your freaking penis!"

"You just did," Robert smirked, taking a sip of his coke. "Well, anyways, what _is_ wrong with you? Is it because you can't get laid?"

"No," Lucas cringed, swallowing his food before sipping his coke too. "Nothing's wrong."

"Ey, I've known you for a long time, man! Don't be going 'nothing' on me," Robert said seriously, pointing his chopsticks at Lucas. "I'm Irish with a great accent. I know everything."

"Oh, when did appearance and accents lead to knowing everything?" Lucas scoffed, earning a smack on the back by Robert. "Ouch, man!"

"Since the doctor pulled me out of my mother's vagina," Robert grinned. "Wait, is it because of a girl, because if it is, y'know I can just wink here and there and we'll be able to get a million girls in our apartment, all of them licking our dry arse tonight."

"Please shut up," Lucas groaned, before placing another mouthful of noodles in his mouth.

"As much as I'd not love to, I won't," Robert sipped his coke before speaking again. "Because y'know why? There are many things to talk about, man! So many things to say! Questions to ask, even! Like, have you started writing again?"

Lucas sighed inwardly. He'd wanted to avoid this topic for weeks now, and now that Robert mentioned it—being the good friend he is, Lucas couldn't wait to just get out of the apartment.

"I've written 50 pages already," He lied, setting his empty paper plate on the coffee table, and then taking a sip of his coke.

"Oh that's great!" Robert said with a sarcastic smile. "Only if it was true, yeah, mate?"

"You think you can read me so easily…" Lucas scoffed, clasping his hand at the back of his head, leaning back on the sofa.

"Oh, but I can, mate, that's why we're best mates!" Robert said cheerily, patting his chest before standing up. "You want a beer? A blade, maybe? Or perhaps a gun to shoot yourself with?"

"Beer would do," Lucas glared at Robert, before breaking into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, I'm so fucking hilarious!" Robert laughed hysterically, clutching his sides, trying to regain composure but once again breaking into laughter.

"Your face, maybe," Lucas laughed along, also clutching his sides.

"Oh, I'll have you know I'm fucking beautiful if you haven't noticed yet," Robert pinched his own cheeks, batting his eyelashes, and puckering his lower lip as he looked at Lucas. "See?"

"Oh Gosh, shut up!" Lucas laughed as he clutched his sides, already having a hard time breathing because of laughing hysterically, tears already building up on the side of his eyes.

This was a normal thing for the two; both of them ending their day laughing because of something Robert has said, or some silly story they were sharing with each other. It had been like that since the first time they had met and hopefully, it will never end for the two friends.

Robert loved Lucas, even though he'd never actually admit it, he loved him, as a friend that is. Lucas was actually the only one who had seen right through him, through all his silliness and sexual remarks, witty answers, all of it. Lucas gave him a chance and that was probably the simplest, yet most meaningful action someone has given to him.

Everyone called him a fucking twat, asshole or a prick, but Lucas didn't. He didn't judge Robert and that's what makes him thankful every day. For having met Lucas, both of them seem like brothers now at how close they are. They are indeed best friends, as Lucas had once said to him. At first he didn't believe it, because it was something he's never heard someone say to him, but then, as Lucas started calling him best friend for a whole month, he'd finally grown accustomed to it and accepted that someone actually called him 'best friend.'

Lucas is like the brother he once had (his brother died in a car accident—the car bursting into flames, after meeting him just two weeks before).

"I'll go get the beer now?" He finally stopped laughing after having a coughing fit and almost vomiting the food he's just eaten, but Lucas on the other hand looked like he was going to die from laughter. "I was about to vomit, man! Not funny!"

"So…funny…" Lucas said between laughter, falling off of the sofa and hitting his head on the coffee table, making him stop laughing immediately, his infectious laughter getting replaced by a groan. "Ouch."

"Should I get the beer now?" Robert snickered, asking his question once again.

Lucas looked at him with grin, before laughing again and nodding. "Yeah, make it two."

* * *

_A/N Thanks for the reviews, once again!_

_Sorry if ya'll wanted Peyton, or more insight to what happened after their encounter but I wanted to show a bit more of Lucas' side in this chapter._

_Don't worry, though! Next chapter will eventually have them meeting again. _

_Oh, what do ya'll think of Robert? And if you're wondering, yes, I've envisioned him as Nathan Young (Misfits) because I just love the character!_

_Tell me what you think!_


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